Life Lines

4: Chicken and Stars

He finished the check up, even taking a swab of the back of my throat.

"Well, my dear, it appears you are indeed sick."

"I knew it."

"More than likely it's strep. I'll have the lab look over the sample. In anticipation of them confirming, I'm going to go ahead and write you a prescription for amoxicillin. Use acetaminophen for fever reduction if you get one or for pain management. I hear those throat sprays do wonders as well."

"I know all of this."

He patted my knee in a grandfatherly way. "I know, dear. We miss your mother around here. Best nurse I ever had. Now they have these...technical community college degree natives who don't know squat. Charming people, don't get me wrong but..."

Dr. Wilson was the type to talk your ear off if you let him. Thankfully, my mother had taught me all the best tricks to wane him off his rambling. 

"Can I still work?"

"I'm sorry," he chuckled. "No. You might be contagious so, forgo the working until one of my nurses gives you a call to confirm."

"I was supposed to baby sit for Emilie tomorrow night."

"Ah, yes, little Claire. Please cancel. I don't wish to see her in here for strep, or whatever else you might have, in the days to come. There is nothing wrong with a bit of caution."

*

When I got to the waiting room after checking out, I found Schylar and Allie sitting in the chairs, looking bored out of their minds. They both stood up when they saw me.

"Please tell me I didn't get you two sick too."

"No. We heard you were here and came for support," Schylar said, holding out DVDs from Redbox and a can of Campbell's Chicken & Stars. "I was going to go with the Dora the Explorer soup but Allie said that was childish."

"That's nice of you. I'm not a fan of Dora. Her voice gets grating if you listen to it for too long."

"I already called Emilie and I'm subbing for you so I can't participate in the festivities. But I helped him pick out the movies so you wouldn't be stuck with crap-made horror flicks and westerns."

"Hey!" He looked at her frowning. "There is nothing wrong with crappy horror flicks. Or westerns."

"There is when you can tell they used colored corn syrup for blood and fake prosthetics..."

I tuned them out and we left the clinic. The little building sat close to downtown but not in the same district. My father didn't own it but I was sure either he would be calling or someone on Dr. Wilson's staff would. I told him that morning that I had an appointment. I was 85% sure he was listening since he was the one who was urging me to go. He didn't like the sound of my cough, he said. Mom was the medical person in the family but Dad liked to pretend he knew what he was talking about. Apparently he'd read all the books and was prepared for anything, even though he left the sex talk up to Cecil's mom when I was eleven. I'd only been sick a handful of times so every bump, bruise, cough, or sneeze, he said something and worried needlessly.

"Nat, where are you going?"

I stopped walking and looked up. I'd completely bypassed my car and was walking across the parking lot. I'd spaced out, the whole world draining way. I stood there for a second, trying to figure out what was wrong with me. It was like my brain was stuck on deciding where I was supposed to go.

Then across the street, leaning against the building, I saw him. He was watching me again, but this time it was different. The look he had told me he was expecting something, making his right eyebrow lift just a little.